


you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not

by heyitshex



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Sakura Sojiro, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, POV Sakura Sojiro, Sakura Sojiro Adopts Persona 5 Protagonist, Sakura Sojiro Deserves Love, Sojiro and Iwai are old gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitshex/pseuds/heyitshex
Summary: “I could kill you with my bare hands.”I’m going to regret saying those words to Isshiki Youji one day, but that doesn’t make them any less true. When I saw Futaba curled up in a blanket on the floor of his home, it took every fiber of my being not to wrap my hands around the man’s throat. “How could you do this to her, you bastard?! She’s just a little girl!” Just a little girl. Small, frail, skinnier than I when I last saw her—had they even fed her? When was the last time she had a real meal? As I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car, I pray for the first time since Wakaba died. Please, don’t take her away from me too.yuletide 2020: found family
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Isshiki Wakaba/Sakura Sojiro, Iwai Munehisa/Sakura Sojiro, Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakura Futaba
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server yuletide 2020 event





	you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not

_(two years ago – christmas eve)_

_“I could kill you with my bare hands.”_

I’m going to regret saying those words to Isshiki Youji one day, but that doesn’t make them any less true. When I saw Futaba curled up in a blanket on the floor of his home, it took every fiber of my being not to wrap my hands around the man’s throat. “ _How could you do this to her, you bastard?! She’s just a little girl!”_ Just a little girl. Small, frail, skinnier than I when I last saw her—had they even fed her? When was the last time she had a real meal? As I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car, I pray for the first time since Wakaba died. Please, don’t take her away from me too.

The Christmas gift I bought for her remains unwrapped until I get her home. I didn’t exactly know what to buy for a thirteen-year-old girl, but the Jack Frost plushie is an excuse to check on her even if I have no right to do so, and I’m glad I was bold enough. I decide that night to open the gift myself and tuck it into her arms as she sleeps. She curves her small body around it, hugging it against her chest and pressing her face into the soft fabric. The longer I stare at her sleeping face, the hotter my rage burns. _Who could ever dream of hurting you,_ I wonder. They’re monsters, all of them, every one of those bastards who blamed her for Wakaba’s death. It’ll be over my dead body before they come close to her again.

The first night is rough—I spoon-feed her _okayu_ and help her drink as many glasses of water as she needs. By the next morning, she’s rested enough to feed herself, but I sit with her just to be sure. She stays nestled under my arm half the time when I come to check on her over the next two days, curling up against me and falling asleep after every meal. It tears me up when I realize that the last person who ever held her was likely Wakaba. _Four months._ In four months, had she gone to sleep every night with no one by her side? All I can think about is how she woke up every day to an empty world without love or protection. I make the silent promise that Futaba will never have to wake up alone or unloved ever again.

She doesn’t speak to me until the morning of Christmas Eve when I bring her breakfast.

“…Do I have to go back, Sojiro-san?”

The question startles me. I don’t even realize she’s awake until I set the tray of food down. Her eyes are barely open, peering at me in the dim lighting of the spare bedroom. The bed isn’t very big, but large enough for a child as small as her. I’ve already started pricing larger beds despite the fact I have no way of knowing if I’m even allowed to keep her here yet. But when she asks, my resolve is firm.

“No,” I say resolutely. “No, you never have to go back. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t have to go back there.”

Futaba’s tired eyes lock onto me, calculating and shrewd, just like her mother’s. Wakaba always had that look in her eyes, like she was decoding every word out of your mouth to unlock some secret meaning. “Can I stay with you?” she whispers.

I don’t stop to consider my answer. “Yes. If that’s what you want, I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.” I smile at her and gesture to the tray. “Now, how about you eat something, okay? I made you some _nikuman_. It’ll help you get your strength back.”

She nods and sits up to look at the food, her thin arm wrapping tighter around the Jack Frost doll. “Did you bring me this?”

“Ah—” I glance down at the toy and rub the back of my neck. “I did. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it or not. The clerk at the toy store said they’re very popular among young girls—”

“Can I keep him?”

Confusion tugs at my stomach as she snuggles her cheek into the back of the doll’s head. I search her face, trying to decipher what she means. “Of course, you can. I bought him just for you. You can sleep with him every night; he’s not going anywhere.”

“I can stay in this bed too?” she asks, hugging the doll closer. “Even if you get mad and yell at me?”

Her answer to my unsaid question brings reality crashing down on me. My chest aches as her gaze avoids mine pointedly. “Futaba-chan,” I begin, inhaling deeply and controlling the tremble in my voice. “You can have this doll. You can have this bed—actually, I’ll find you a _bigger_ bed. And you can have as many dolls as you like. Anything you want, you just ask me, and I’ll find a way to get it for you.” Clinging to my composure, I brush her hair back from her face with a tender hand. “You will never have to worry about me taking anything away from you or yelling at you. No matter what. Do you understand?”

Her expression is skeptical, unbelieving—I can’t really blame her. Why would she trust some man her mother used to be friends with when she can’t even trust her own flesh and blood to care for her? But still, my heart hurts the longer she stares at me, assessing every inch of my face to untangle my intentions. What did they do to her to make her this hardened and suspicious? That faint glimmer of distrust in her eyes is too old for a child.

Slowly, she inclines her head, hesitantly acknowledging my words. “Can I be alone while I eat?”

 _Let her do it. Show her you’re willing to listen, Sojiro._ Taking a deep breath, I stifle the urge to mother hen her. “Alright. But you’ll call for me if you need anything, okay? Don’t push yourself.”

She nods, clutching the doll to her chest and avoiding my eyes.

With labored steps, I force myself to leave the room, closing the door behind me to give her privacy. I linger in the hallway, staring at the knob briefly before I shake the unease from my bones and carry my worries back to my own room. Every step I take is like a mile added between the two of us, as if despite being in the same house, we exist in separate galaxies. I rub my eyes on my sleeve as they begin to sting, and before I realize it, I find myself sitting on my bed and staring at the framed photo of Wakaba on the nightstand. I pick it up, clutch it to my chest, and cry.

* * *

_(one year ago – christmas eve)_

“Here you are, sir! One _Featherman_ limited edition action figure!”

I closed Café LeBlanc early today to stand in line for an action figure from a show I have _no fucking clue_ what it’s about; but frankly, I’m glad I did. The longer I waited in line, the fewer boxes I saw on the other side of the register. It’s been a long time since I participated in last minute shopping on Christmas Eve. I’m so busy running the café and trying to make ends meet to support Futaba that I nearly forgot to buy her a gift. I could kick myself for being so negligent, but I suppose I’ve lucked out in the end.

“Thank you very much,” I sigh in relief, paying the woman behind the counter as I take the shopping bag and head back into the cold streets of Shibuya. The moment I step outside, I see happy couples passing by me, exchanging little kisses of greeting and carrying boxes of cake. My heart quivers in my chest as the sounds of giggling women and playful banter between lovers brings me back to a place I’d long forgotten. _Wakaba._ The last Christmas Eve we spent together before she died was in her kitchen, cooking curry while Futaba watched cartoons in the living room of her small city apartment. Her soft, silky black hair brushing my cheek when she hugged me at the door still lingers on my skin, imprinted in my mess of a heart until the day I die. The smell of coffee blending with spices coupled with that rare, blissful smile of hers were the greatest gifts to me.

_Pipi. Pipipipi._

I fall out of from my memories, scrambling to grab my mobile from my pocket as it vibrates against my hip. The screen reads _Futaba_ and I quickly answer the call, stopping and setting my bags on a bench in the central square of Shibuya Station. “Futaba? Is everything alright?”

“Are you coming home soon?” she asks. “You’re an hour and twenty-six minutes late.”

Trying to suppress the urge to chuckle, I check the time and verify she’s right, ~~as always.~~ “Sorry, I am running a bit behind because of an errand. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I reassure gently. “I’m heading toward the station right now and I should be home very soon.”

“…Okay.”

I frown when her voice drops. “Futaba-chan? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just got scared. _He_ came to the door today looking for you.”

My blood runs cold. _Youji._ “You didn’t answer it, did you? Did he know you were home, Futaba—”

“N-no, I didn’t answer,” she says quickly. “I just heard him calling for you from my room. I peeked out a window. He left eventually, but I just…you’re coming straight home, right, Sojiro-san?”

“Of course,” I say, picking up the bag and continuing to walk. I don’t give a damn at that point if it’s impolite to walk and talk on my phone at the same time. _She needs you more than an action figure, idiot._ “I am coming straight home. Just watch your favorite show ‘til I get home, okay? _Flying-man?_ ”

 _“Featherman,”_ she groans.

“Right. Of course. See you in a bit.”

“Okay, Da—” A pause. “…Sojiro.” The line goes dead and my heart sinks with it.

On the train ride back to Yongen-Jaya, I wonder if I’ve over-indulged her reclusive habits too much over the last year. The rare occasions she comes out of her room are to accept food and sometimes watch television with me when she feels brave enough. I tell myself that it’s not her fault or mine that she’s like this, that she’s a young woman and she deserves her space after what happened; unfortunately, that’s not the way the outside world sees it. The first two times I paid off Youji to keep quiet about Futaba’s _condition,_ I thought I was doing her a favor. I was certain that she would get better in a few months if I just allowed her the space she needed to process her grief, but a few months turned into a full year, and now all I do is worry when I cross the shut door of her bedroom every day. Am I really good enough to be her father?

I make a hasty stop by the supermarket in the backstreets of our neighborhood and pick up a cake just big enough for the two of us. Desserts really aren’t anything special to me, but it wouldn’t feel right showing up on Christmas Eve without cake. Futaba can be a picky eater, but I know she likes to pluck the strawberries out of the frosting. I rush home quickly, taking a shortcut down one of the back alleys, and stop in my tracks when I round the corner and find someone standing at the front gate of my house.

“What do you want, Youji?”

That perfectly punchable grin rests across his face when Isshiki Youji turns to face me. “Sojiro! It’s been awhile,” he greets as if we’re _friends._ “Imagine my surprise when I came by your café _and_ your home only to find you weren’t at either location. Just where did you go for so many hours?”

The instinct to smash the cake in his face and kick his ass is strong within me, but that would mean trouble and Futaba wouldn’t get her frosted strawberries. “I was Christmas shopping for _your_ niece,” I huff, narrowing my eyes at his empty arms. “And I don’t see a gift in your hand, so why exactly have you come to visit us on Christmas Eve of all nights?”

He crosses his arms and takes a few steps closer to me, smirking like he’s gained the upper hand somehow. “Why do I need a reason to come see my niece, exactly? She’s my own family, after all,” he says, feigning a contrite look. “But I must say, I’m a little concerned. If she’s not out with you, where is she? Locked up in the house? No one even came to the door.”

Searing anger burns through my veins as I grip the shopping bags tighter. “I tell her not to answer the door when I’m not home for her own safety—not that it’s any of _your_ business—”

“Or perhaps you don’t want anyone to see what poor state she’s in?”

_“Youji—”_

Youji’s smirk widens. “She hasn’t left this house in nearly a year. Admit it. You’re failing as a parent and you’re afraid someone’s going to realize it and take her away.”

My nostrils flare. I can’t bring myself to deny his claim, so I change the subject altogether. “Look,” I growl, “I know why you’re here. If you’re looking for me to pay you off again, I don’t have the money right now. I spent what leisurely funds I had left for the month, so you’ll just have to wait.”

The annoyance in his eyes is almost satisfying until his gaze drops to the toy store bag in my right hand. “What’s that you got there? Her Christmas gift?” he asks, and I can already see the dollar signs dancing over his head. “I can read the box through the plastic and—my, my, _Sojiro,_ is that what I think it is?”

I jerk my arm back, attempting to shield the protruding box from view. “It’s none of your business—”

“—A limited edition _Featherman_ action figure? I hear they’ve already sold out in most places!” The excitement and awe painting his face is so sugary-sweet that he could win an acting award for Biggest Asshole Alive. “You know, I wanted to buy one of those for my son, but I searched high and low and couldn’t find a single damn one.”

 _No. No, no, fuck no, **you bastard.** _“Youji, please…”

“Sojiro, be reasonable,” Youji grunts, extending his hand expectantly. “I’m being very generous here. That toy’s worth a lot of money, you really shouldn’t have bought it in the first place with your _meager earnings_ as a café owner.” He nods curtly, flexing his fingers at me. “Give it to me, and I’ll stop bothering you until after the holidays. Think about how much better your Christmas will be without any _incidents_ occurring with the authorities—”

**_“You fucking prick—”_ **

“This is your last chance!” Youji barks, thrusting his hand at me. “Hand it over, or I call the cops. Take your pick, Sojiro.”

I want to hurt him. I want to make good on that threat I threw in his face one year ago. I want to smash his face into the curb, berate him and show the world what kind of monster is harassing us. I can see people on our street glancing our way with concern when voices are raised, and anxiety bubbles in my gut like a geyser. I already see where this could go—cops are called, witnesses say there was a shouting match, Youji pulls out crocodile tears for his poor, _abused_ niece who won’t even leave her bedroom. I know delusion when I see it in the mirror. Even if I had concrete evidence against him, it would be a lost cause. I loosen my hold on the bag and extend my arm slowly.

“Wise decision,” Youji chirps, all mirth and merriment as he swipes the bag from my grasp and claps me on the shoulder. “I really do appreciate your generosity. And my son will too!” He turns on his heel and strolls down the alley with the swagger of a battle victor, waving his hand lazily in my direction. “I certainly hope you have a Merry Christmas. We’ll be in touch.”

I glower at the spot where he stood, not entirely sure how many minutes pass before the sting left from his “friendly” impact melts away. Snow begins to fall as the last sliver of daylight disappears, frigid droplets on my skin reminding me that what just happened isn’t a bad dream. I glance down at the cake box, thanking my lucky stars at least he left me with something. Every step I take toward the front door of my home grows heavier the closer I get. What do I even tell her? That her Christmas gift was used as collateral for her own safety? How would she feel knowing I spent all that time to get it for her, and then came home empty-handed? I can’t make up an excuse that I was at the supermarket for five hours. More importantly, as my hand brushes my wallet and I rummage for my keys, I realize that a third of our normal food budget just went out the door for nothing.

Much to my surprise, when I step inside, she’s standing there waiting for me and tugging at the edges of her sleeves. Her sudden appearance spooks me at first, because she rarely meets me when I come inside the house unless she needs something. “Futaba?” I set the cake box down and quickly remove my shoes. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “You’re late.”

Guilt twists in my gut. “I know, I’m sorry. I took longer than I meant to, something came up—”

“I heard you two talking outside.”

At this point, I’m glad I set the damn cake down or else I might have dropped it. “W…what? You were listening?”

Futaba scrunches her shoulders and keeps her eyes centered firmly on her feet. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I say, quickly waving off her apology. “It’s not…I’m not mad that you listened, but I wish you hadn’t heard is all.” I trace the top of the cake box with my fingertips and pick it up. I can barely speak to her, let alone look at her when the explanation starts pouring out, so I lock my eyes onto the little pink box. “I should be apologizing to you. I got you a very special gift, something I know you wanted, and I just…gave it away to him.”

My shoulders drop and my throat tightens. I haven’t cried since our last Christmas Eve together, and even more infrequently before that, but the waterworks start coming when my own failure finally sinks in. “I shouldn’t have let him bully me like that, I shouldn’t have—” I make my way toward the kitchen to hide the shame in my eyes, but something latches onto me. Two slender, wiry little arms wrap around my waist from behind and Futaba’s head rests against my back.

“S’not your fault,” her tiny, trembling voice rings in my ears. Her arms squeeze me as tight as her frail little body can muster, as if she’s trying to keep any more tears from slipping out. “I didn’t need it. I’m happy you’re home, Dad. Merry Christmas.” Her little arms release me, and before I can turn to gawk at her, she’s disappeared up the stairs.

When I wrap up a piece of the cake and leave it outside her room later that night, I wish her Merry Christmas through the door. As much as I wanted to give her the action figure, I’m happy I still got a hug.

* * *

_(present day – christmas eve)_

“You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

“Yes—”

“And he’ll have you home by midnight? Promise?”

“Yeees, Sojiro, _I promise_. Inari will be very respectful.”

It’s not my fault I’m nervous as I stare at Futaba and Ren, seated side by side before me as if the entire world hasn’t just been turned upside down in the last year. Nearly two years of her never coming out of her room, and suddenly Futaba is going on a date for Christmas Eve. If I went back in time and told myself this, I’d never believe a damn word of it. All the time spent wondering if she would ever get better feels like a distant memory as I watch her fuss with her coat and fidget over the counter. Fortunately, I’m starting to realize that even with the greatest odds stacked against me, some dreams really do come true.

“She’ll be fine,” Ren encourages, finishing off his coffee and passing me his cup dutifully. “I’ll be riding the train to Shibuya with her anyway until they meet up.”

“See?” Futaba chants excitedly. “Big Bro is going to make sure I’m okay. Inari will be good to me too.”

“I have no doubt he will, and I know Yusuke-kun is a very nice boy,” I agree gently, glancing toward the painting hanging on the wall. It’s still bafflingly elegant, much like the young man in question. “I just want you to be sure you’re ready for this. I’m happy that you are out of your room, making friends, going places on your own, but—”

“I know you’re worried that I’m pushing myself too far, Sojiro,” Futaba says with a staunch nod of her head. “But I’m ready to do this.” That echo of Wakaba’s determined smile flits across her face, silencing my concerns in an instant. It tows my heartstrings and brings me back through so many elapsed moments when her mother looked me straight in the eye and smashed my expectations.

I sigh, composing myself and forcing a smile past the inklings of anxiety seeping through me. “Alright. If you’re ready to do this, then I’m ready to see you do it. Just remember, you set the pace. And Ren, you be careful too while you’re out wandering tonight.”

The curl of Ren’s lips is almost as irritating as the way he tilts his head and leans against the bar with a fleeting smirk. “That’s awfully sweet of you,” he croons. “It’s kind of endearing to see you so protective.”

I roll my eyes at him, waving off his playful ribbing. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it. You’re still a little pain in my ass even if I like you better now.” Granted, _pain in the ass_ is just surface value when I consider how much trouble he got into for the greater good. Harboring a wanted thief really should get me _Father of the Year._ And yet, as I study him discreetly, the way he keeps glancing to his phone hopefully, I can’t help but sense that something’s _off._

“Sojiro’s just _tsundere,”_ Futaba snickers, fiddling with her hair and straightening the collar of her coat for the umpteenth time. “He doesn’t like it when you point out he’s really a big softy.”

“Tsundere Sojiro. Sounds about right,” Ren teases, shoving his phone back into his pocket and adjusting his glasses.

Snorting, I shake my head in amusement. Seeing her primping and looking so excited does temper my old heart just enough not to admonish their teasing. My kids can take jabs at me for whatever they want tonight, so long as they’re healthy and happy. I lay my palm atop the counter and reach to brush a strand of orange hair behind her ear. “By the way, you look very nice. Make sure he tells you that, or he’s not worth his salt as a Christmas Eve suitor.”

Her little nose turns up in the air defiantly. “You bet I will. I’ve read enough manga to know how this should go! I’m very learned!”

“I—no, that’s not—” Ren’s stifled laugh into his palm makes my shoulders shake as I try to keep a straight face and not burst into laughter as well. “Just…don’t bother with any of that and have a nice time tonight, okay?”

The resolve in her eyes softens as she slides off the stool and nods her head in understanding. “Uh-huh. Will do. But we better get going because I wanna stop by the supermarket and get him some chocolates,” she declares hurriedly, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

My stomach does a backflip, and I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face. _Dad._ “Merry Christmas, Futaba. Run along to the store, there’s something I want to ask Ren really quick.”

“Okay, but don’t take too long!” Futaba skips to the door and heads out of the café.

Ren watches her, a quiet smile on his face that wanes when he turns to me. “Everything okay, Boss?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “I just…I wanted to say thank you is all. I don’t have anything to give you really apart from your allowance for passing your exams, but…” Being this vulnerable makes me feel like I should smoke, and my hand twitches toward my pocket instinctively. _Cut it out, dumbass. You promised her you would quit._ “It’s important that you know how much all this means to me, the time you’ve taken to help Futaba…”

“Don’t mention it,” Ren replies, shaking his head gently. “We’re family, aren’t we? That’s reason enough for everything we’ve done for each other.”

I smile at him, snorting and playing it off before he can see just how happy his words truly make me. “I suppose you’re right,” I chuckle. “Still, it means a lot to me. I’m happy to see her like this. But I realized that in worrying over her, I haven’t asked how you’re doing.”

Ren’s eyes widen and he slides his hands into his pocket, shoulders squaring. “What do you mean? I’m fine, all things considered.”

“ _All things considered_ ,” I echo. “Listen, I know a forlorn lover’s look when I see one, kid. You’ve looked at your phone screen about twenty times in the last thirty minutes. You worried someone’s gonna cancel on you?”

“Not exactly,” Ren laughs, a bitter lilt in his voice as he reaches into his pocket once more. “I just keep hoping I get a message from someone.”

“Oh?” I ask, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Feeling a little lonely on Christmas Eve?”

“Something like that,” he says with a wry smile. “What about you? Aren’t you gonna be bored by yourself tonight? No pretty ladies to chat up in the café—”

“Shut up, you,” I huff, thumping his arm. “My fun’s beginning later tonight, so you just mind your business, hm?”

“Oh yeah? Good to hear I’m the only single loser on Christmas Eve.” Ren smirks, eyes dropping to the counter. “Can I ask you something, Boss?”

“Of course. I’m all ears.”

Ren drums his fingers, wearing that stoic frown I’ve come to dread over the last year. He scrunches his shoulders, and it reminds me that I’m talking to a teenaged boy, not a masked protector of the people. Kid’s got a knack for making me forget he’s still green. “Sojiro, is it wrong to love someone who’s hurt you?”

Well, shit. That wasn’t what I expected. “Hurt you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in confusion. “In what way exactly?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he says, shaking his head. “If someone did something bad to you that betrayed your trust, but in the end they did everything they could to save you—is it okay to love them? Even if there’s a small part of you that still hates them for what they did?”

A disquieted silence fills the air as I try to come up with the right answer— _fuck_ , as if there even is one. What am I supposed to say to a sixteen-year-old asking me questions he shouldn’t even be considering at his age? Most parents would bullshit their kid, give them candy-coated advice to preserve their sense of innocence. But this is Ren we’re talking about, and as much as I want to be shocked, I can’t really hold onto the feeling of awe the longer I stare into those weathered eyes. He’s seen more evil in the world then any young man should at this point in his life. He deserves honesty, not bullshit.

“I think the root of your question is, _is it okay to love?_ ” I begin, words weighing like a block of lead on my tongue. “And the answer to that will always be _yes._ We can’t control who we love and who we don’t no matter how badly they may have hurt us, Ren.” Sighing, I place a hand on his shoulder and give him a squeeze. “Now, I’m not saying you should let that person hurt you just because you love them, but…you’re never going to fall for someone who is absolutely perfect either. People you love will always do bad things _and_ good things; but hopefully, the good will always outweigh the bad. Love is a wonderful thing, but it’s never really in simple black and white terms. Sometimes to love is to suffer, kid. You just gotta ask yourself if the wonderful outweighs the suffering.”

Ren bites his lower lip thoughtfully, pulling the phone from his pocket one last time and staring at the screen. “You’re right,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Not that it matters now.”

“Why do you say that? Sounds like you’ve already given up hope.”

“I have. They’re gone now,” he says simply, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “They’re not coming ba—”

_Pipi. Pipipipi._

His hand snatches the phone out so quick, I’m afraid it might catch fire. He stares at the screen, eyes wide as dinner plates like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. I recognize that love-look too—it’s the, _oh shit, they called, and the world doesn’t suck_ stare.

“I’m guessing that’s your date?” I ask, trying to not look too smug.

Ren’s thousand-yard stare is more gobsmacked than I expected when he finally focuses on me again. “I…um, yeah,” he breathes, shoving his phone back into his pocket and hopping up from his seat. “I, um—Futaba’s probably waiting, so I—you’ll be okay here—?”

I wave him off with haste because I can already sense his heels smoking before he even makes his way toward the door. “I’ll be fine, kid. Go enjoy your Christmas Eve and tell him I said hi.” I barely hear an unintelligible goodbye as Ren runs through the door and down the backstreets, disappearing like a dandelion seed in the wind. There’s a lingering pinch of sadness as the quietness of the café settles over me, relieved from the witty banter of teenagers. For the first time in two years, I’m alone on Christmas Eve…

For now, at least.

_Just one more hour and he’ll be here._

The pork katsu curry is pure perfection by the time I ladle it onto two plates. The aroma of hot and savory spices fills the air around me, permeating through every nook and cranny of my tiny café with alluring depth. I don’t prepare this recipe often because there are a few extra steps I take to ensure that the texture and taste meld together so well that the pork feels like it’s melting in your mouth. It takes time and patience to get everything just right. Admittedly, I worried that I wouldn’t have it done in time before the chime of the shop bell—

_Ting-ting._

But Iwai is worth the extra effort.

“Hey there, chef. Somethin’ smells good.”

A giddy, tingling sensation scurries up my spine when I hear his gruff voice and turn to see the gun enthusiast removing his cap and coat. When he’s not layered in that intimidating get-up of his, he actually looks rather distinguished—a bit scruffy around the chin, salt-and-pepper hair trim and clean-cut, and a lopsided mouth that only turns up in a smirk when our eyes meet. Technically, this isn’t our first _date,_ I guess—he’s been making deliveries to Ren for the past few months, so naturally our schedules overlapped enough that I convinced him to stay for coffee on occasion. It’s embarrassing to think that an old man like me could have a _crush_ on someone. Childish, right? But when he talks to me, so direct, so _no-funny-business_ in the way he speaks, it sends an old, forgotten flare through my bones.

I confess, I have a type.

“Pork katsu, just the way you like it,” I answer with a playful chuckle, looking back to the pot as I scoop the last bit of curry. “I used cheek meat this time. It should be nice and tender—”

“Mm. Speaking of cheek…”

Iwai comes up behind me suddenly, appearing behind the bar like a damn ghost—I hate it, but I _love it_ at the same time. He keeps me on my toes. The brush of his stubble against my neck as he trails a few small kisses up to my cheek causes me to scrunch my shoulders and shiver. “You need a shave, you slob,” I tease, biting my lower lip to hide a smile.

“Tch, you like it,” Iwai grunts, nuzzling me one more time just to be a pest. “Thank you for making dinner tonight. The kids out for the evening?”

“Yep,” I sigh, leaning back against his chest and resting my head against his shoulder to look up at him. “Both of them have Christmas Eve dates. Can you believe it?”

His brow quirks. “Even Futaba?”

“Even Futaba,” I confirm. “Don’t worry, I almost fell out of my chair when she said so, but…I’m happy she’s comfortable enough to go out with people she trusts now.”

His calculating frown curls upward into a rare, affectionate smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs, placing another kiss to my cheek. “Kaoru has a date of his own tonight, it seems. So, I guess you and I can take our time…” His fingers dance under my chin, lips hovering over mine in a silent invitation.

“I suppose we can,” I chuckle, nuzzling the tip of my nose against his and drawing him into a warm, lingering kiss. My fingers find their way into his hair, stroking the feathery soft tresses as I sink into a blissful haze. As rough and tumble as Iwai is, these hidden moments of affection are gentle. Every little touch holds the effort of someone who doesn’t indulge his heart often. The enduring scent of the night air mixes with the minty aftermath of that fragrant, seductive cologne I bought for him when we went shopping in Shibuya one night. He’s a perfect wreck of a man and he’s picked me of all people.

“Hmm,” he growls quietly into my hair when our lips break. “We better sit down and eat. If you kiss me like that again, the food’s gonna get cold.”

“You say that like you would prefer eating the curry to kissing me,” I joke, feigning a wounded expression.

“Nah,” Iwai snorts, shaking his head and letting go of me just enough to latch his strong hand directly on my ass. “Just that you’re gonna need your energy tonight, so you better eat well.”

 _Fuck._ I am a grown man who does not blush when someone flirts with me and makes colorful remarks like that. But when it comes from Iwai, I have to hide a growing flush on my face by focusing intently on carrying the plates to one of the corner booths. “Filthy bastard,” I huff, wrinkling my nose as his wolfish laughter trails behind me.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, following me and sliding into the booth as I set the table, “I am happy to be spending my Christmas Eve with you. Honestly, the last few years have just been me at the shop while Kaoru goes out with his friends. But it’s gonna be different this year.” He pats the spot next to him, signaling me to sit with him instead of across the table from him. “I’m gonna spend time with my family and the people I care about. Life’s too fleeting to take that for granted, I’ve realized.”

Butterflies flutter from my stomach all the way to my chest as a strange warmth fills me. “I can relate. Men likes us never know what to do with family when we find it.” I smile and slide into the booth next to Iwai, thinking back to the last few years—losing so many battles to Youji, trying to be a good father to Futaba, protecting Ren from his enemies—but as I rest against his side, I feel at peace. “I’m glad you’ve chosen to spend tonight with me then.”

“Me too,” Iwai mutters, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Hope I get to spend more nights with you like this.”

“As do I, handsome.”

It hits me finally when we dig into our meal that for the first time since Wakaba died, everything has fallen into place. Even if my dream of being with her is gone, I still found the family I always wanted.


End file.
